


Moonshot

by NikaylaSarae



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Soulmates born with marks that will pair up, soulmate!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:06:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26939353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikaylaSarae/pseuds/NikaylaSarae
Summary: Was it too much for Logan to ask to have just one date not revolve around sports talk?
Comments: 4
Kudos: 54





	Moonshot

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted with minor edits from my Tumblr account @stillebesat.

The polite smile Logan had been wearing for the past two hours slipped off his face as soon as he turned his back to the black camero waiting on the sidewalk. 

_ Every time.  _

It took all his self-will to unlock his door and move inside without slamming said door shut on that--that--

He gritted his teeth, glaring at his stupid soulmark of a baseball with blue stitching on the back of his hand. “I despise you,” He whispered. Had despised it since the mark had appeared on his thirteenth birthday.

Logan shoved his fist under his arm, stalking away from the door. 

_ Every time.  _

No matter how many times he told people what type of people he was interested in dating, in having as a soulmate, his wants and needs all seemed to drain out of their fluff-filled scheming heads as soon as they saw the stupid baseball on his hand.

Because the baseball obviously had to mean that his soulmate would be a jock.

After all, your soulmate’s mark would pair with yours when you touched for the first time. Appearing on your skin to  _ complete  _ each other and show that you were finally  _ whole _ . A key to its lock, a lightning bolt to a cloud, a pen to paper, or in Logan’s case an individual with a bat or mitt would match with him and his infernal baseball. 

It didn’t matter that Logan  _ hated _ sports.

It didn’t matter that a soulmark didn’t always indicate a ‘type’ of person to be on the lookout for.

It didn’t matter that he’d figured out by his senior year of highschool that the  _ sports type _ wasn’t his _ type _ at all.

No. As soon as someone saw the baseball, any thought or consideration to the type of person Logan was actually interested in flew right out the figurative door. 

Time and time again it was the same old story. The same type of guy. The same droll dates filled with endless sports talk before the dreaded moment when his date would reach out and touch him to see if their soulmarks would appear on each other’s skin...only to have nothing happen.

He was sick of it. 

Logan threw open the door to his bedroom and grabbed the overflowing duffel bag of baseball gag gifts he'd been given for practically every occasion for the last eight years and ducked outside onto his balcony. 

The balcony overlooking the darkened practice baseball fields because where else should Logan end up after the student housing administrator noticed the baseball on his hand? It was  _ fate.  _

Logan dropped the bag with a thunk, grabbing the first ball his fingers touched and squared up like a pitcher on the mound. 

It wasn't like he wasn't familiar with the position. His parents had fully subscribed to the idea of Logan’s soulmate being into sports and had forced him to play the game throughout all of high school in the hopes that he would meet his other half there.

Just because his parents’ soulmarks of a shovel and a pickax had matched with their shared interest and subsequent careers in Archaeology didn’t mean  _ his  _ mark would be the same. 

Letting out a breath, Logan focused all his frustration and anger into the ball before sending it flying out into the middle of the field, not even waiting for it to land before he grabbed another.

He hated it. 

Hated this.

Baseball this.

Sports that.

Practice. Practice. Practice.

Well he was  _ practicing  _ now!

Logan’s lips drew back in a silent snarl as he threw ball after ball after ball like one of those stupid pitching machines. 

Just  _ once.  _ He would like to go on a date that didn’t involve any sports talk whatsoever. A date where Logan could talk about his interest in marine biology, in space, in his attempts to write a murder mystery--yes the character that dies a violent death was a baseball player, so sue him. He had to vent his bitterness about his mark  _ somewhere _ \--but a date. A real actual date that had--had--

**“AHHHHH!!!!!!!”** Logan screamed, flinging the last baseball in his stash out into the darkness before he slumped over the railing burying his head in his arms, ignoring how his glasses dug into the bridge of his nose. 

It was pointless.

He’d have to move to Antarctica to escape the never ending line of sport related dates and it would just be his luck that the  _ penguins  _ would end up gaining sentience while he was studying their migratory behavior and their first sentence would be to ask him his opinion on the likelihood of the Marlins making it to the World Series this year. 

“You know--”

Logan jerked his head up at the unfamiliar voice coming from below and despite his misgivings for further human interaction tonight, peered over the railing to see a guy wearing the exact same type of frames as him standing in the light cast from the balcony below Logan’s apartment, with a bat in hand.

_ Great. A player.  _ His luck was definitely not in tonight.

The figure offered a wide smile, holding up one of Logan’s balls. “Until I heard you scream, kiddo, I’d begun to think it was the sky raining baseballs down on my head.” He gestured to the darkened field. “Made for quite the interesting practice for sure, not knowing where the next one would show up.” 

_ Kiddo?  _ They had to be of similar age! Logan exhaled, pushing his glasses back up as he straightened. He could hold it together long enough to apologize to the guy at least. 

“Apologies...I didn’t think anyone was out there--” Hopefully he hadn’t hit him. Logan had been throwing the balls quite forcefully. He cleared his throat. “Why were you playing in the dark?” 

The boy shrugged, tapping the bat against his shoe. “Moon’s bright enough to see. It’s nice to just...not have anyone watching you practice, you know?”

“No.” But perhaps that was because Logan had only practiced when forced to. 

“Oh well,” The boy bounced the ball in his hand. “I’m not much of a catcher, but--” He threw the ball up in the air and with a swing of his bat, sent it flying straight into Logan’s hands. “I can return your balls to you this way if you want--” 

He’d very much rather go burn them all in a dumpster. Logan turned the ball over in his fingers, the leather surface warm from being in the batter’s hand. “Or?” 

“Or?” The boy glanced to the field, chewing on his bottom lip. “Or...uhmm...well you can come down and help me? Or I can gather them all and bring them up to you!” He said flashing Logan another smile. “I just need like a garbage bag or something to put them all in?” 

Ha. Logan’s lips twitched. No way was he inviting a stranger up here. Which meant--He exhaled, dropping the baseball back down to the boy’s feet. “You can keep some if you want. I’d rather not have the reminder.” 

Unfortunately, Logan had known that he couldn’t just...leave them all there for someone else to find and take. Not when most of them had his name on them. Which meant, even without this guy’s interference, he’d have to go gather all the balls back up anyways. 

A pity. It had been good while it lasted, to think he’d never have to see them again.

The boy laughed, throwing the bat over his shoulders. “Ah, kiddo, you and me both.” 

Logan blinked. “Both?” He echoed, leaning on the railing. 

“Not exactly fond of the sport myself. But yah know.” He raised the back of his hand to Logan, a blue and black baseball mitt shining in stark relief on his skin under the light from the balcony below. “Soulmarks right?”

Instinctively Logan moved to cover his own mark. “Right.” He whispered, not quite believing what he was hearing. Someone else...hated--no perhaps that was too strong of a word-- _ didn’t like  _ their soulmark? 

He’d thought he was the only one. 

Logan cleared his throat. “You don’t--?” 

“Nah.” The boy shook his head, running his hand down the bat. “Like I said. I’m not much of a catcher. Broken my glasses more times than I can count because people see the mitt and assume if they throw something at me I’ll be able to catch it.” 

Logan winced. And he’d thought he’d had it rough. “I’m...sorry.” 

“Meh.” The boy waved his hand dismissively. “I’m used to it.” He cleared his throat, nudging the baseball with his shoe. “Anyways--I--uh still need a bag or something for--” 

Right. The baseballs. The whole reason why they were having this conversation in the first place. Logan exhaled, grabbing the now empty duffle bag and pulling the strap over his shoulder. “One moment, I’ll be right down.”

“Oh, you don’t--you can just toss--” 

Like he would make anyone clean up his own mess when he was quite capable himself. Logan grabbed the railing and swung himself over, pausing long enough to gauge the distance to the ground nine feet below him before he jumped, landing lightly on his feet. He raised an eyebrow at the batter’s flabbergasted expression as he straightened. “What?”

The guy blinked, mouth open. “I--uh--” He cleared his throat, ducking his head as he fidgeted with his glasses. “That was really cool.” He mumbled. “Like from a spy movie.” 

Logan scoffed, ignoring how he could feel his cheeks warming. “It was the quickest way down to you.” He said, scooping up the first baseball and shoving it into his bag before he strode off towards the darkened field. The sooner he gathered them all up, the quicker he could return to sulking in his room. 

A faint  _ “Right, _ ” sounded behind him before the other guy caught up, fidgeting with the baseball bat. 

“I’m Patton by the way.” He said after a moment, shooting Logan a smile, his glasses reflecting in the moonlight.

Introductions. Bah. He’d much rather have preferred remaining complete strangers. “Logan.”

“Logan.” Patton repeated softly. “Do you go by Lo?”

Lo? Logan frowned, ignoring how--how  _ warm  _ he felt now after hearing Patton say his name. He cleared his throat, adjusting the strap of his duffle bag on his shoulder. Why would anyone  _ want  _ to shorten his name any further? “No?” 

“Oh.” Patton moved ahead of him to open the chain link gate in the fence. “Well I  _ Lo- _ key think your name is really cool, Logan!” He said, gesturing him inside with his bat. 

Lowkey? “Ah...your name is...nice too...Patton.” He said awkwardly, pausing just inside the fence to let him shut the gate. “I haven’t heard it before.” Well he had, just not as a name. People  _ patented  _ inventions all the time after all. 

“Thanks!” Patton bounded past him like an excited puppy, already heading for the cluster of baseballs shining under the moonlight. “My parents were trying to play off of the--uh--” He tilted his head, chewing on his lower lip as he dropped the first handful of balls into Logan’s bag. “That one philosophy from that one guy...Arisomething? Pathos, Ethos, Logos--hey!” He pointed the bat to Logan, bouncing on his toes. “You’d be a really good representation for Logos with your name Logan! But yah. I’m named after Pathos?” 

Huh. That was...different. He was pretty sure his Dad had named him after some stupid superhero or something. Logan shook his head, stooping down to grab his own couple of baseballs from the field. “So you have two siblings then?” 

“Ah...no, actually.” Patton half jogged over to drop a handful of baseballs into the duffle. He shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “Mom got cancer--she’s okay! But she...she couldn’t have kids anymore after everything.” 

“...Oh.” 

“Yah...what about you? Any siblings?”

Logan exhaled, making a mental note to move faster in collecting his baseballs. Small talk. How had he gotten himself into small talk? Though he supposed he should be grateful it wasn’t sports talk. Few of his dates ever asked about his family beyond what teams they supported. Not that this was a date. But still. “Twin sisters, younger.” 

Patton nodded. “Nice! Mom mentioned once if she had had a daughter she would have named her Athena...keeping with Ethos I guess? Is it nice to have younger sisters? I know the movie tropes make them annoying…” 

Logan snorted, shaking his head as he bent down to grab another ball. “They’ve mellowed out the past couple of years...well beyond being hellbent on finding me my soulmate while they travel with my parents.” He hunched his shoulders. At least tonight’s date hadn’t been their fault. “They’ve become rather infatuated with the idea of true love after spending the summer in France.”

Patton chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like my best friend, Roman. He’s spent the past couple of summers traveling around Europe hoping to meet his soulmate in one of those old castles. I’m not sure why he’s convinced they’re gonna be over there. Baseball isn’t as popular over there as it is here in the States.”

Logan pulled up short, blinking. “Your friend Roman has a baseball mark too?” 

“Hmm? Oh yah! Well, not of a baseball, his is a bat though Roman’s quite set on the fact that it’s a club, you know the weapon? Which maybe  _ that’s _ why he keeps haring off to Europe, but there’s a few of us that have met up here on campus with baseball related marks---”

“And  _ none  _ of you are soulmates to each other?” Sure, it shouldn’t be surprising. Hadn’t he gone on dozens of dates with people who had related marks but didn’t match up?

Patton ducked his head, tapping the tip of his bat against his shoe. “Well...ummm….we don’t...know? It’s not a thing?”

“Not a thing.” Logan repeated, faintly. How could it _not be a thing?!_ It seemed like his whole life had revolved around the concept of matching up ever since his mark first formed. It was the _first thing_ people looked at when he talked to them, people hardly wanted to interact with him unless they thought their marks could match up and Patton was saying-- “You haven’t tried to match with _any_ of them?” 

Patton shrugged, turning to grab another baseball, rolling it back and forth in his palm as he fidgeted. “Like...I--I could...I  _ want  _ to, but most of us  _ don’t like  _ our marks, I think Remus may be the only one? His is this neon green foam finger that he’s super proud of. It’s just...we all just want to be  _ friends  _ first.” He said, stressing the word. “If we match then we’ll match when the time is right, but we just...we all wanted a safe space to be ourselves in college and not have to worry about soulmarks on top of classes and finals and such.” 

“Oh.” Logan lowered his duffle bag to the ground. “That sounds...nice.” He brushed the mark on his wrist. To not have to  _ worry  _ about being a potential soulmate to the person he was talking to. To not have to have  _ every  _ conversation revolve around the sport. 

Patton nodded, his face in shadow as he placed the last baseball into Logan’s bag. “It is.” He looked up, the light from the moon catching on his glasses, as he pushed them back up his nose. “You ah...we’re all meeting up tomorrow at noon for lunch at that new Bubba Gump Cafe just off campus...if you want to come...check it out? Meet everyone?” 

A safe place. To just be himself. To talk to people and not worry about if any of them matched. “I--” Logan took a steadying breath, giving Patton a small smile. “If you don’t mind me...tagging along...I’d really like that.” 


End file.
